


What Happens In Vegas...

by Shatterpath



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Angie is a little ball of sass and charm, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Las Vegas, Peggy will make an appearance later I promise, Sassy Steve, Tropes, it's a mild M but I'm hoping to bump that up later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:10:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6671635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Angie visited Las Vegas for a much needed break from her overbearing family, she hardly expected to cut loose quite this much! Still, Steve is a nice guy, successful in his field, so it could be worse, right? Perhaps together, they can make it work, no matter the odds...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In Vegas...

**Author's Note:**

> So, years ago I started an RP I enjoyed briefly that seemed it would translate well to a story. And I had just the pairing! Despite it being a little cracky, I love the idea of Angie and Steve, because they are both sassy and playful. 
> 
> Dedicated to comicbooklovergreen, because she's awesome and aren't we the only ones on this dingy-sized ship?

The soft whine carried through the quiet of the elegant condo, drifting over the debris field of clothing left strewn about like the aftermath of a volcanic explosion. The lumpy jumble of bodies on the huge bed stirred and made more pitiful noises. Wrapping both arms around her head, Angie Martinelli wondered briefly if she was dead, but figured death wouldn't feel this crappy. Her head was pounding in time with her stomach and the pulse behind her eyes, while her sore, oversensitive skin sent signals of complaint about feeling like the floor of a movie theater after a Rocky Horror night. And the taste in her mouth? Science itself lacked the words. 

Clutching her aching head, Angie carefully peeled open one eye and caught a bleary glimpse of a clock on the bedside table that read 9:54. It was late for her, but she was on vacation dammit, and it was pretty damn obvious Sarah had dragged her out to whoop it up last night. With a metabolism like a frantic hummingbird and an appetite like a bear, already Angie was clearing up from the hell she woke to, stretching luxuriously and letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. Odd twinges of shallow pain flashfired all over her, little pools and pinpricks of heightened sensation, but that was all forgotten in the shock of her stretching toes slipping over fine, soft sheets…

To press against a distinctly hairy leg.

Squeaking in shock, she recoiled and managed to knock herself clean off the bed, whuffing with the impact and becoming tangled in the sheet that pooled down over her prone body. The other body stirred with a low, pathetic and decidedly masculine sound. She was going to kill Sarah for this, seriously. She'd been trying to get Angie to loosen up and sow her wild oats since sophomore year. And pretty much every day since, the loveable hussy. 

Hazy memories filtered into Angie's mind. Losing her ID…a clearly delighted Sarah cackling about some hunk at the hotel door… a fancy restaurant… the most gorgeous sky blue eyes she'd ever imagined… big hands on her skin… hot, wet kisses…

She didn't need a visual check to confirm the naked state of her person, nor that much of her soreness sure as hell wasn't PG, but quite X rated. 

Well, fuck.

"Oh god," she muttered to herself and shakily got to her feet, refusing to look at the large, naked male sprawled ungracefully on the bed as though dropped from a great height. Iron stomach or no, the wild night and the shocks of the morning were too much and her innards lurched alarmingly. Half wrapped up in and half stumbling over the sheet, Angie ran for an open doorway that showed what looked to be a bathroom vanity. Thankfully, she had gambled right and lost what little was in her belly into the toilet. Angie wasn't sure her mouth was better or worse in the aftermath. Vowing to never again indulge in alcohol-- at least not to this extent-- she flushed and poked through the collection of hygiene products on the countertop. Well, at least this was a guy that took care of himself and not some disgusting slob. Score one for her in the 'not a absolute drunken idiot' column. It didn't do much to counter the 'naked and well-fucked in a strange man's bed' though.

Enthusiastically doing her best to wash away the sewer in her mouth, Angie attacked the bottle of mouthwash she found, looking longingly at the lone toothbrush propped in a cup. While she doubted it would make much of a difference after what they'd clearly done-- not that she could remember more than scattered impressions-- it seemed too intimate. Really, the lack of memory was freaking her out way more than the stranger in the next room. Running the sink on full cold, she leaned over to cup water to her face and neck, rinsing away some of the lingering haziness and the grime on her skin. Maybe Mister Right Now would let her use the shower…

Straightening up warily in deference to her queasy stomach and sore muscles, Angie reached for a towel and froze. 

It glinted in the mirror, taunting her with a shine that couldn't be ignored. Hardly daring to look, she rolled her head to the side and sure as shit, there it was. 

"Oh nononononono, I did not become my own fanfic trope and get married in Las fucking Vegas!"

\+ + + +

_The ring was gorgeous, as full of fairytale flash and drama as any princess could want. Yeah, there was a part of Angie that had never outgrown that part of itsy-bitsy her, relishing every fairytale and heroic story in her books and on her DVD shelf. She wished on stars and put lucky pennies in her shoes and would have kissed frogs if her mother hadn't always had an eagle eye on her. Giddy with the first real freedom from her close-knit, stifling clan and the all encompassing family business, she was high as a kite with the independence of it all. It drowned out the Voice of Reason that sounded suspiciously like her mother, and her inner child remained firmly in control._

_The platinum band coiled around her slender finger to swoop up into the four prongs that securely grasped the large princess-cut diamond that was the breathtaking centerpiece. There was a matching engagement ring, both of them studded with what looked like dozens and dozens of smaller diamonds that sparkled as though alive._

_Seriously, she'd marry the big, handsome idiot just for the rings._

_The saleswoman just smiled calculatingly to herself, knowing that the pretty little brunette was smitten._

_"This is the one," Angie breathed, her heart racing as she was completely caught up in her own fairytale. "Now we just need a match for you."_

_"I have just the one," the saleswoman interjected smoothly, but he ignored her for a moment to step closer to Angie, nuzzling his soft mouth over the glittering band on her finger before turning his idiotic grin to the business at hand…_

\+ + + + 

Groaning like a man inches from death, Steve Rogers blinked awake and squinted miserably at the various shades of blur he thought were his windows and furniture. They seemed distantly familiar, but he couldn't be certain. Good fucking Grilled Cheesus, Buddha and the Vince Lombardi Trophy, what the hell had happened to him?

Too deadweight and dizzy to move, Steve just coasted the sickening rollercoaster in his brain and belly for a moment, letting both settle into the station so that he could breathe more easily. He was fairly certain all his body parts were still attached, though there was the weirdest ache in his left hip and asscheek. What the hell had he done in practice yesterday?

Practice.

Wait.

That vaguely rang a bell, a painful sensation to his aching skull. Football. He played football. With really, really big guys.

Didn't he do that for a living?

Grassy fields, screaming crowds, leaden skies and cold rain were seared into his bones. No, now his fields were indoors… beneath hot lights and the grass was supple plastic that threw sand and rubber pellets in his eyes when he landed…

Vegas. Right. Yeah, he played football in Vegas now, finally a star in the big leagues, just like he'd always dreamed of since he was a gridiron-obsessed twig with an attitude ten times the size of his pathetic frame. More skill than mass, he'd been a slippery little cuss who could take a beating like a pro. A useful skill to be sure.

Right now, he felt like that skinny little twerp again, bruised and hurting. Though, these days his teammates were usually more about protecting him and not pounding the crap out of him. After all, roughing up the quarterback would be stupid. Leave it for game day and all that shit.

This time he groaned in a different pain as his achingly full bladder protested the morning woody that was unhappy with the position his leaden body had trapped it in. So, feeling like crap or no, he had to get the hell up and take care of that business. Besides, it was daylight and there must be practice today, right?

There'd been a woman. Yeah, memories were filtering in like water drops, fickle and uneven. A dropped wallet… A glance of her jogging away in the early morning sun… It was the utilitarian ponytail that had caught his eye. Loose, wavy, brunette curls that bounced and flashed with blonde and red highlights, drawing his eye down her petite, wiry frame and tight ass. Not his normal voluptuous fare, certainly not the One That Got Away, but her easy physicality spoke to him.

Even the haziness of the memories couldn't stop his sore mouth from curling into a naughty smirk. Man, he'd had some amazing fantasies last night that should give him fodder for months over what she looked like, the sound of her laugh, the luscious body beneath an emerald green dress. Yeah, he was definitely looking forward to meeting her again if he got the chance. If not, well he'd take the fantasy fodder and run with it.

Still haunted by snippets of fantasy about what the sexy stranger might be like, Steve forced rubbery muscles to move, hauling his arms up to raise his head and shoulders. Cocking his hip out provided some small relief to bladder and hard-on so that he could wait for the dizziness to settle. Then he could slowly work on sitting up and stumbling wearily for the bathroom even as his muddy brain continued to race.

Some part of him snarked that he must look like some sort of big, stupid dog, blinking at the vision before him. It... she blinked back at him, clearly nonplussed. It was an odd expression for a figment of his imagination.

"Are you real?"

Verbalizing his confusion seemed to crystallize some of the chaos. If she were real…

That meant all of the weird, disjointed snippets of images and scenes in his head might have some merit.

Oh... oh crap.

\+ + + +

_"Just another beautiful day in Las Vegas," Steve groused to himself as he pulled into the Wynn and negligently tossed the keys to an eager valet. He missed forests... and rain that didn't flood everything in sight when it did finally fall... and proper shade. But the people in this dry, stark land made up for the inconvenience that only a desert could cause._

_Still, it was a glorious morning. Lots of fresh air, some good, clean exercise, hot bodies to look at and fans to exchange hellos with in an environment that was very low-key. Sure, he'd gotten used to dressing up for the cameras and all the crap that went with his new job, but he was just an athlete first and foremost. Still, he had to run the gauntlet of questions and admiration, of shaking hands and kissing babies, of signing autographs and posing for pictures before he could get to the actual mini-marathon. Like a good dog for his new masters, Steve remained friendly and charming, knowing he was the most recognizable face of his fledgling ballclub._

_At last though, the run was underway and he was able to shift among the groups of runners and walkers in an effort to preserve his anonymity, but still keep up a decent pace. At one point, he spotted something fall away from the pack in a flash of red and white. So he burst into a sprint and just missed the object as someone inadvertently kicked it aside, but got it on the second try._

_It was a clip-on badge holder with three cards jammed into it that he slipped into the front of his compression shorts as he was suddenly swarmed by fans. Served him right for stopping._

_Hours later, exhausted not from the running, but from dealing with fans and the media and race officials and blah, blah, blah, Steve finally got back to his car and checked his phone. Thankfully it was just goofy text messages from his buddy Sam, teasing him about getting his ass to work. Status quo then._

_Wait._

_Feeling like an ass for forgetting, he found just the bare tail end of the clip poking above his shorts and peeled the plastic away from where it had embedded itself into his sweaty skin. The sting made him hiss and he made a mental note to clean the thing off before returning it, because eew._

_As he'd hoped, the cards inside gave him enough information to track down their owner. A credit card, a room key marked 'The Mardi Gras Hotel & Casino' he'd bet was close by, and best of all, a California driver's license. The face of the owner was a young woman, girl next door pretty with a typically unflattering expression expected after dealing with the DMV._

_"Well, Angelica Nicoletta Martinelli of Torrance, California, age twenty-six, how about I go introduce myself then?"_

 

**Strangers in Love**

 

He was a big man, at least six foot, and built like a walking fantasy. Ripped and sculpted with good, solid working muscle, he cut a striking broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted shape that she was really disappointed to have no memory of… yet. He was also hard, that pretty cock angled towards his belly and she felt warmed up even with the lack of retention between her ears. Her admiration was blunted by the condition he was in though. Bruised and battered all over, he had a black eye and purpling cheekbone matching the fist-sized bruises all over his ribs, overlaid with scratch marks that made Angie blush.

"Yeah, I'm real," she answered his slurred question and stepped out of the bathroom before he stumbled into her. Bracing himself against the doorway, he nodded as much to himself as her and gestured vaguely.

"Gimmie a sec, yeah?"

Looking around the room, she noted that it definitely had the feel of a home and not a hotel room. He leaned towards blues and reds and warm woods with simple black and white photos of landscapes and animals in frames all over the walls. There were clothes scattered about, mostly in traditional masculine shades, but a few bright flashes caught her eye here and there.

"Go face the music, asshole," she heard him mutter in the bathroom once he'd finished up and flushed and the then the sink ran for a long moment. When he wandered back into the bedroom, towel slung around his waist and rubbing another over his head and face, those blue, blue eyes flickered from her to his left hand where she could see another silvery band she'd bet matched her own. "Hey," he greeted her softly and she was grateful to see a warm smile dance at the corner of his mouth. "I'm Steve. Pleased to meet you. I hate to be a bother, but I clearly got a couple blows to the head and should probably go see a doctor. And I need to find my phone or scrounge up my boss' number before he sends out the national guard. And possibly call to the police to see what sort of shit I… we got into."

The burble of amusement that grated up from Angie's belly surprised them both.

"I'm Angie," she greeted him just as quietly and spotted the edge of a very fancy mobile phone peeking over the edge of an upholstered chair by the door that must lead to the rest of the place. Walking over to it, she clung to the blue sheet around her naked frame and grabbed the device. "And I can only hope we didn't do anything crazy enough to get the police involved." With a faint grin, she approached and held it out. "Though if your memories are as fucked up as mine are… who knows. That said, we should probably get your head checked out, yeah."

The glitter of the rings caught Steve's attention, she could see it in his expressive face. With watering eyes and a conflicted expression, he held her fingers loosely over the back of his, staring at the picture the trio of rings made together. His was a plain band with a line of more princess-cut diamonds that ran about a third of the way around, embedded flush to the sparkling platinum. One thick finger traced the metal and he looked so… sad. It gave her a weird jolt, that melancholy in him. It wasn't a panicked regret one would expect in a handsome young man finding himself married to a stranger after a indeterminate period of drunken shenanigans. It was… something else.

"So what's my last name now?" fell out of her mouth and Angie winced at how insensitive it sounded. Flustered and still reeling from hangover and her insane morning, she found herself rambling on. "Well, maybe not my last name, since I doubt we could have gotten that little piece of legality done overnight, even in Vegas, but I'd like to know what your last name is because this is the craziest thing I've ever done in my life. And you seem like a nice guy, jesus I hope you are or why the hell did I marry you, right? And I can't imagine you want to be stuck with me, which is sorta depressing, but makes sense and, yeah, I'm going to shut up now and let you make your phone calls, because holy crap, Angie, shut up already."

It shouldn't make her sad, the idea of this stranger not wanting her. Screw that, she shouldn't want something like this from a stranger! But the damn rings were on their fingers and there were fractured snippets of vows and looking up into his eyes, caught up in the spell they'd somehow woven together.

\+ + + +

_"Goddammit, Sarah! Open the damn door!"_

_It was no use, Sarah slept like the dead and Angie knew it. Growling with irritation, she left off pounding on the hotel room door and slammed her back against it to slide to the floor. This is what she got for getting a wild hair to escape into the gloriously cool early-morning air and get some exercise. Losing the little plastic envelope that held her ID, credit card and room key wouldn't have been a big deal if she'd stuck to her plan of hitting the fitness room in the hotel. But no, she had to go and get all curious about the crowd gathered at the fancy golf course across the street. It turned out to be a charity event for kid's fitness and they were happy to take her $20 and let her join in. So she got to explore the gorgeous golf course, get in a solid jog and be a do-gooder all in one fell blow. It was all sorts of awesome until she'd found her damn things missing._

_Only quick reflexes saved the dozing Angie from cracking her head as the door behind her was yanked open._

_"Christ, Angie!!" Sarah gasped at the tail end of her girlie-squeal of shock. "What the hell are you doing out here?"_

_"Learning underwater basketweaving," Angie snarked as she regained her balance and groaned at her legs being all tingly from the hard floor. "I've long since lost count of how often you've made us late, Lady Sleeps-Like-the-Dead, but this might win for an all time low."_

_Both offended and sheepish, Sarah helped Angie to her feet where she tried to shake out her stiff muscles._

_"I dropped my fucking cards while out for a run in some charity jog, marathon thing across the street. With that many people involved, there was no damn point even going to look for them. I'll check in with their lost and found later and hope."_

_Wincing, Sarah hesitated, knowing she'd made a bad situation worse without meaning to. "I was headed out to eat. Do you want to join me?"_

_"Only if you wait for me to shower and we can swing by the golf course to at least leave them my number."_

_Not waiting to find out Sarah's answer, Angie stalked into the bathroom to crank up the shower as hot as she could stand it and wash away the sweat and stiffness and irritation._

\+ + + +

It took a too-long moment for the upchuck of words to sink into Steve's aching skull, but he managed to catch at her fingers as she abruptly pulled away, clearly embarrassed and upset.

"Hey, hey, hang on a sec." 

Gently-- because he wasn't going to grab at her like a Neanderthal on top of whatever the fuck else he might have done-- he tugged at her and relished her slender body nestling easily into his. She was girl-next-door pretty, but with a sly, sexy edge that lingered around her mouth and big, blue-green eyes you could get lost in. She was high-activity slender and strong, a bit on the small side, and carried herself like someone much larger in stature, a personality too big for her sweet face and petite frame.

Yeah, even now he was seeing what caught him, hook, line and sinker.

The subject of names was threatening to derail his aching skull again, but not so much that he missed the flicker of sadness beneath the curiosity and wariness on her expressive face. "Yeah, I'm a nice guy. Sorta a Mama's boy, actually." When she relaxed a fraction, he dared spread his hands out over the finely detailed muscles of her back and tried to ignore the sensual jolt of reaction to her closeness. "So, I guess we really got married in a fun-loving, hormonal, drunken haze?" Helplessly, he echoed her sudden grin, merriment mixed with consternation and a sharp, filthy edge. Lowering his head to rest their foreheads together, he closed his eyes and scoffed quietly almost more to himself. "God, I never do shit like this..."

Their bodies remembered more of what happened to them than their muddled brains, and that ease calmed both of them. Angie rested both hands on his upper arms, two spots of soothing warmth against his skin, and breathed out a long, gusty sigh that he felt as clearly as if he had done it himself. Tilting her head back nestled their noses close, her breath feathering over his face.

"Would it be weird if I kissed you?"

The tentative query made her huff quietly in amusement and murmur, "no, not weird. Go for it."

It was a whisper of a first kiss that wasn't a first kiss at all. Like their embrace, their bodies remembered the way and the gentle exploration deepened into open-mouthed passion. Dizzy all over again, Steve pressed his hands tight to Angie's back and lost himself in the feel and taste of her for a long moment. Only her soft moan made him slowly break the kiss, breathing hard and stifling down a growl. Yeah, he was looking forward to getting some of his memories back for damn sure.

"That's better," Steve said hoarsely, leaning back only far enough to meet her eyes, wide and dilated. "While this is the weirdest morning after I've ever had, I can't say it's a bad one."

Her smirk was very telling. "I think it's safe to say that this is my weirdest morning after as well. And no, I can't say it's a bad one either."

\+ + + +

_Not wanting their raucous night to end, Steve happily shelled out for one of the highest rooms in the Bellagio, asking the concierges to send up pajamas and toiletries kits for them. He found Angie blearily looking over the massive indoor planters, swaying with exhaustion. She jumped at his touch, but smiled warmly._

_"Hey, come on. We can watch the sun rise."_

_For the first time since that fateful meeting at her door-- was that really just the evening before?-- Angie looked at him with a hint of suspicion._

_"Just sleep."_

_For a moment, she debated and then nodded before taking his hand and snuggling into his arm. The quiet, quick elevator was not fun on their half-drunk brains, but soon enough they were far above the earth in a suite that left both of them gawking like tourists. But the opulence of the suite was forgotten in the magnificence of the view._

_"Wow," Angie breathed as they stepped out onto the balcony and felt the wind tug at them. The blaze of electric glory that was Las Vegas still burned around them, but the sky was flushing blue and pink in the rising dawn. They stood there hand in hand and just absorbed it. Steve was no genius with women and almost missed the way Angie tilted her head back to look at him curiously with a small smile on her face. "Thanks for all of this, Steve. I've had a hell of a good time."_

_"Me too."_

_She met him halfway for a slow, luxurious kiss, her hand ruffling the short hairs at the base of his skull._

 

**Getting to Know You**

 

Whatever her past-self's reasons for marrying this stranger, the intoxicating kisses might have something to do with it. They were good together and she was reluctant to give up that seductive mouth, despite the stale taste of them beneath the mouthwash.

"You're good at that," she chuckled against his lips and watched him blink back to himself, cringing at the clear pain in his head. Cradling her hands in his, Steve raised both up and startled the hell out of Angie by sweetly nuzzling her knuckles and the fine metal and stone warmed by her body heat. It was a subconscious echo of their wild night, pressing memories tantalizing close to both of them. In that moment, she saw how shaken up he was-- and not just from the bruises. He looked young and in over his head and quietly desperate for something more than just a wild night in the sheets.

Whoo boy. She was beginning to get some clues of how she'd gotten into this sitch.

Yeah, he could be playing her, she realized that. But if he was, he was magnificently talented at it and she would be perversely complimented by the quality of the performance just to bed her. Though she was pretty well convinced he really was this sweet guy.

So many possibilities.

Gently breaking her hands free, Angie pet his scratchy face and smiled warmly at him. "Go get dressed, Steve."

Nodding, he reluctantly let her go and toddled away a bit before glancing back at her with those big blue eyes.

"I'll be here. Or at least close by."

That seemed to reassure him and they separated at last, Angie finding herself outside the bedroom and panting like she'd been running laps. There was a definite… intensity to him that had her hormones in a tizzy, but her brain was curious too. She wanted to drag him back to that rumpled bed, but also just talk to him.

"Ugh, what an ass-load of crazy you've gotten yourself into this time, Martinelli," she groused to herself and wandered down the short hallway. 

Like the bedroom, the rest of the place was dressed in soothing colors and heavy, well-made furniture. As he was a big, clearly athletic guy, that made sense. The place was pretty neat, with the exception of the trail of scattered clothing that made her blush. Clearly, they'd been anxious to get naked.

Ignoring the bulk of the mess, she zeroed in on a flash of emerald green silk, feeling her stomach lurch as she bent to pick it up. It was a shimmery, silky confection of a dress she didn't remember owning, but was clearly hers nonetheless. Well, there was no point in procrastinating, so she woozily began extricating herself from the blue sheet, ignoring the bank of floor to ceiling windows across the room that looked over an expanse of empty desert.

Her gasp of surprise wasn't feigned as she caught sight of dusky bruises under her fair skin. Some were obviously from Steve's large hands gripping her hips and thighs-- and she suspected one near her bellybutton might be a bitemark-- but there were a few mystery marks that had to have a hell of a story behind them. 

\+ + + + 

_Bored with the pool match Steve had gotten caught up in, Angie wandered off to peer into the old-school jukebox. For fuck sake, didn't they have anything in here but whiny country music? That's what she got for dragging them into a cowboy bar, but the electric bull had looked like fun! And outside of the bruises she could feel rising under her skin, it had been. Ah well, nothing another couple of shots couldn't blunt._

_A roar of approval brought her eyes back to the pool table and she was instantly caught up in the way Steve's muscular body rippled beneath his pricy threads when he moved. He really truly the hunk Sarah had gleefully labeled him._

_Strangers slapped Steve on the back and money changed hands, but the vanquished opponent was no graceful loser._

_"Whatever, dude," the stupid punk sneered and Steve looked at him, unmoved by the immature posturing. "You're not that guy, anyway. He'd do it!"_

_Steve leaned on his cue and regarded the confrontational frat boy with cool blue eyes. "Listen, sunshine, I've indulged you long enough that my date wandered off. This was mildly amusing and I appreciate the beers, but I'm done. Adolescent pissing matches aren't on my agenda."_

_Someone jostled Angie and there was another roar of voices, Steve stumbling heavily before whipping around, fist flying. There was a brief but violent scuffle lost in the crowd and it took a few minutes for her to track him down at another section of the bar, downing a shot. He looked pissed off, but unharmed, so Angie decided that she'd do her best to cheer him up. His charming smile certainly bloomed easily enough when she plastered herself to his side._

_"My hero," she simpered exaggeratedly and batted her eyelashes like a cartoon character to deepen his smile. Pleased, she cuddled his thick right arm and dropped the silly act. "Hey, you okay?"_

_"Yeah, I think so. We'll keep an eye on me, yeah?"_

_"Absolutely. So, the music here sucks and I'm ready for something else. You still game?"_

_"Hell yes!"_

_And they were off on their next adventure._

\+ + + + 

Emotionally, Steve felt as off kilter as his poor, battered body did. So much missing time, so many bruises, so much he had to figure out once he didn't feel halfway to death's fucking door.

A pair of baggy sweats and a battered 'Leiber University, Topeka' tee had him respectable for being out in public and a pair of flip flops saved him the hassle of real shoes. That taken care of, he prepared his aching head as best he could and dialed over the team HQ. "Hey Rose. Yeah, it's Steve. Yeah, I bet he's pissed. Look, if he's out on the field, don't drag him in, I don't know that I could handle being yelled at right now. I woke up with a black eye and an aching skull and I'm off to the hospital to get checked out. No, I'm pretty sure I'm okay, just hungover and beat up…" 

As he stepped into the hall and looked towards the living spaces, he nearly swallowed his tongue, watching the emerald dress shimmy down Angie's naked body.

It took a moment for Rose's businesslike voice to get his attention back. 

"Yeah, sorry, say again? No, of course I will. Yeah, I know. Too bad the doc isn't in. Really? Guess I have a double dose of explaining to do. Great. Thanks again, Rose."

Breaking the call, Steve paused at the front door, absently noting that shirt tossed over the couch wasn't something he'd be caught dead in. Day glo orange? With a bio-hazard symbol emblazoned on it? Good god... he both hoped for and dreaded the memories that lay beneath booze, lust and at least two blows to the head. But it was forgotten as he studied the suspiciously empty wooden bowl next to the front door. His wallet was there beside a crumpled wad of papers-- sloppy of him-- as were his metal keys and her fancy little red purse, but… where was his car key? Gingerly, he picked up a noisy bundle of key fobs that was like a cosmic hairball of Vegas Americana cast in plastic and cheap metal. Among the tacky mess was a small calfskin pouch with the tail end of a small, smooth glass block tucked inside of it. After squinting for a moment, Steve recognized it and he couldn't help but shoot a sly grin at his… wife.

Still smiling, he approached with the soft leather pinched between index and thumb, doing his best to ignore the jangling mass hanging from it.

"Apparently, I bought you a car as a wedding gift. A good friend of mine has one of these and frankly, I'm glad we made it back here in one piece. Shall we go see it?"

Her expression was a priceless mix of surprise and raging curiosity with a dash of lust and a heavy dose of that sassy sense of humor he'd glimpsed.

"You bought me a car," she deadpanned and then held her left hand out to wryly admire the flashy wedding rings. "Well, I just hope we didn't steal any of this."

His burst of laughter was like an icepick to his skull and Steve moaned pitifully, thankful for the small, strong hands helping him stay upright.

"However, you can explain the bankroll later, sugar daddy. Right now, we need to get you to that hospital."

\+ + + +

_Whooping like a bad cartoon character, Steve danced like a man who just didn't give a fuck, for music, booze and the gorgeous company had obliterated any inhibitions he had. The beat was heavy and thunderously loud and encouraged-- almost demanded-- the closeness of their bodies, hands bold on hip and chest, tracing curves both soft and muscled. They teased one another, coaxing the hot curiosity in one another's eyes where the sea met the sky. With the club too loud for words, they were happy to let their bodies talk, to tickle kisses over smiling faces, taste their mingled breath and feel the lust grow irresistibly._

_In time, even his considerable resources were taxed and he jerked his chin towards the sprawling back areas of the club in mute question. Still shimmying, Angie led the way, a fierce little tugboat pulling a freighter through crowded waters._

_"Ugh, you are as sweaty as a racehorse!" Angie laughed as the crush forced them together and he echoed her merriment._

_"Not an inaccurate comparison! How are you barely winded?"_

_"I've been working at my family's very busy restaurant since I was able to walk. I don't get worn down until about the twelve hour mark, and that's only if I've been working my ass off!" Her expression turned sly as they shuffled towards the bar. "What, you can't keep up with me?"_

_Rather than get stupidly offended at the teasing, Steve just roared with laughter. "Apparently not! I admit it, I'm used to heavy labor in spurts with pauses between. Marathoning is more of a pleasure."_

_That earned him a frankly interested look, but they had made it to the bar and had to put in their orders. Along with a refill of alcohol, Steve gave into yet another whim and gestured to the case of club swag, leaving a hefty tip with the quickly settled bill. Angie cracked up and held their drinks when he skinned his whole upper half bare and shrugged on the day glo orange cotton before posing exaggeratedly, making her nearly collapse with the intoxicating humor wracking her._

_"That has got to be the worst shirt I have ever seen!" she finally managed to wheeze._

_The name of the club was scrawled across the t-shirt in sparkling black letters beneath the club's biohazard logo and Steve would have wondered if they'd sold him the women's version of the shirt if it weren't for the fact that it was large enough to fit him. Barely. When a table opened nearby, Steve jumped at it and they could lean against it and take a minute to catch their breath and enjoy their drinks._

_"So, racehorse, you told me at dinner that you're a professional athlete, but somehow never got to what you did."_

_In truth, he didn't want her to figure out who he was, enjoying just being a guy showing a lady a good time. "Guess," he said impulsively and smirked at her exasperated look._

_"Guess? What are you, four? Alright, you asked for it. So, you'd make a goofy-lookin' jockey and your build's all wrong for a dancer." Patting him on the chest, she gave him a mischievously flirtatious look. "The rack is very impressive, stud, so you definitely don't play soccer. Too heavy for basketball, but not for hockey. I'd almost say football, but you don't seem quite built for that."_

_The anonymity was intoxicating, Steve had to admit it. Still, there was no getting away from the truth. "Depends on your position."_

_"My brothers will be so jealous," she sassed and once more he found himself laughing warmly._

_"You're a delight, Angie."_

_"Thank you, Steve. Mama always did tell me I was one in a million!"_

_It was in that moment that he realized that she would be so very easy to fall for._

 

**Hot Wheels**

 

Some part of Angie knew what the sleek European sports car was, even as the name escaped her at the moment. Something involving James Bond? It gleamed like a polished peridot in the harsh light of the nearly empty garage, a pale echo of her disheveled dress. The sight of it sparked another niggle of memory, of spotting the convertible in a fancy dealership. Ditching the limo right there in traffic to invade the brightly lit showroom and draping herself over the hood like a porn shoot. Yeah, Steve had leaned over her to kiss her senseless, rocking his pelvis into the cradle of hers while she'd locked her knees around his narrow hips, pretty much dry humping right there in public.

Sure enough, there was a scratch in the paint, right where he would have held their twined hands down…

Clearing her throat to cover up the wave of heat and embarrassment from the memories that were also serving to remind her that she was bare-ass naked beneath the green dress, Angie gestured at the car. "Wow. It's a beauty. And I even managed to park it reasonably straight, because there's no way in hell you had the seat that far forward."

It was amusing to watch Steve not bother with the door, planting his ass on the edge and levering his long legs over to sink into the low seat. Rather than slide his legs beneath the dash, he wedged them up to lean against, making a pathetic huddle.

She felt bad for him, stroking his wildly disarrayed hair for a moment before walking around to the other side of the convertible and admiring her new toy from the inside. Nearly every surface was sheathed in creamy white leather and the seat was a dream. Among the dials and buttons in the carbon fiber console between her and Steve was a strange, empty slot that was about the size of the glass block in the leather pouch. Dumping the thing into her hand, she eyed it as the noisy key fobs fell into the cup holders. Only a half inch or so was glass, the rest was a sleek remote control about the size of a small flip phone. In the glass was the same set of stylized open wings as was emblazoned on the steering wheel. Lining up the markings, she then slotted the strange thing in the open slot between the words 'engine' and 'start'. 

Nothing happened.

"Do I need to give the Star Trek car verbal instructions?" she said sarcastically and Steve huffed quietly in amusement. One long arm snaked out to blindly feel for the weird key, pressing and holding it firmly. It glowed red, then green before blazing bright white as the engine roared to life. And roar it did, making them both cringe and hold their ears. Whatever was under the sleek hood, it was big and it was mean. Angie had never heard anything like it.

"Glad we made it home safe," she mused quietly as the engine settled into an aggressive purr and was caught by Steve's lopsided smile.

"Yeah, me too."

Pressing the activation button on his spare garage door opener, Steve dropped the thing next to the mass of key fobs, both of them groaning pathetically as daylight speared into the room.

"Dammit, I didn't even think about the glare," Steve complained, hands clamped over his bruised face. After a minute, Angie braved cracking open one eye and forced herself to deal with the glare until her vision slowly adjusted. The rumble of the big engine brought on more sensory agony as she gingerly backed it into the warmth of the day. Grinning wearily beneath his protective hands, Steve spoke up again. "If you go out the security gate and hang a left, the street will take you straight to the 15. Head south and that will take you to downtown and Valley Hospital. They'll know what to do. Hell, when Rhodey got knocked unconscious last week, they had him up and running in no time."

Turns out his place was a condo, located on the outskirts of a well-maintained complex at the edge of open desert. She drove past not one, but three different pools and a castle of a recreation area surrounded by a sea of grass and socialization areas. There weren't many cars left to the elements, but those she did see were pretty much triple her net worth for the next year. The fancy green sports car fit right into its surroundings.

Seriously, who was this guy?

Some part of her mind filed away the knowledge that he was closely associated with possible concussions. Was he a boxer or wrestler or something? He was certainly cut enough to be a pro athlete of something. There was no clear recollection of the information, so Angie was forced to let it go for now. For better or worse, driving took up the vast majority of her concentration. Strange vehicle, strange road, strange morning; all of it was a challenge. But Angie had never backed down from a challenge in her life and the powerful car feeling like a wild horse that wanted to leap away and her towering heels weren't going to best her now. She thought about putting the top up-- if she could even find the button on the minefield of controls-- but decided that she liked the warm air in her hair too much to give it up.

She was going to cling to this fantasy as long as she could before it evaporated.

\+ + + +

_She had to admit that this 'living large' thing had its benefits. After an excellent breakfast and bloody marys had been delivered to the room, Angie had found herself wistful for the long date not to end. And a pool. She was dying for a nice, long swim, but hadn't even brought a suit on the trip, much less stashed it in her tiny purse._

_Then an honest to Abe personal shopper with a freakin' clothes rack on wheels had shown up at the door to treat the couple like visiting royalty. It was a variety of things in mostly neutral colors, close to her size and everything could be worn a bit loosely or tailored on the spot. Like the white bikini tied to her exact shape with big bows and the thin drawstring pants so soft she almost thought they were silk. There was even cork-soled casual shoes with ribbons that could be tied to different sized feet!_

_Steve chuckled in delight as she strutted into the common space of the suite like a cartoon supermodel to drape herself into his lap for kisses._

_"You are a riot," he murmured as he smoothed big hands over her. "And sexy as hell. So, I know I promised a trip out to Lake Mead, but the pool is closer. And it smells better. And the room is close by. And we have an open tab."_

_That made Angie laugh and give him a quick, hard kiss before scrambling to her feet. "Fair enough, handsome! Pool it is. 'Sides, I'm enjoying this royal treatment. Shall we?"_

_There was a tent cabana decked out like a private living room to while away the time in that was out of the hot sun and an attentive staff to cater to their whims. Steve looked like a fallen angel of sin and sweetness as he stripped down to a pair of snug shorts that left little to the imagination and approached waggling a tube of sunblock._

_"If I rub you down, will you return the favor?" he flirted and sat beside her hip where she'd taken up residence in one of the padded lounge chairs. Grinning, Angie curled her hand around his and tugged him down with the other._

_"Well, since you asked so nicely…"_

_The kisses had been growing more familiar and more promising as they practiced, hands wandering further afield. So far, the rating had only flirted with R, but as Angie ran her hand up Steve's thick arm and across the wiry hair dusted over his magnificently sculpted chest, both were having more and more trouble remembering why they shouldn't._

\+ + + +

Blearily aware of the scenery flashing by, Steve kept his hands over his eyes and enjoyed the tug of the morning air at his filthy hair. Part of him knew he should be trying to talk this all out with the stranger at his side, but he was too fractured to concentrate. Ugh, a trip to the ER was going to be the worst. The last thing he needed was someone recognizing him and this whole situation spiraling out of control before he could even hope to roll with the punches. At his best, the attention could be too much sometimes. And he was certainly not at his best.

The thick wedding ring on his finger rested near the corner of his eye, cooler than his skin with the wind wicking away the heat. Coach was gonna murder him and leave him for the vultures. For fuck sake, he didn't even remember Angie's last name! Muzzily, he thought it was something… Italian? The media jackals were going to be all over this and just the knowledge of that made him groan.

But… he hadn't done anything wrong.

Coach was going to kill him anyway.

Braving a glimpse, he looked at Angie's profile, her hair in the wind, the glitter of the platinum and diamonds against the car's wheel. He'd always wanted this; his ring on a beautiful partner's finger. But… not like this. Not a stranger whose name he couldn't even remember on his own. She would regret it, hell, he might regret it too. Who knew? 

Full of conflicting feelings, he made a decision and reached out to touch her arm. "Hey, Angie? Let me have you take me to my club, they'll be able to handle this."

"Your club?"

"It'll be more discrete."

That was the right thing to say, her mouth twisting into a small scowl for a moment before she nodded. So he breathed a sigh of relief and gave instructions to head for Lake Las Vegas, outside the city at the fringes of Lake Mead. A peek through his fingers filled Steve with relief that the pain seemed to be lessening in the open air and he was able to keep them on track. Bleary memories of watching the appropriately named Sunrise-Frenchman Mountains from a hotel balcony filtered through his head. There'd been two nights then. That would explain some of his confusion as to what they'd gotten up to. 

The exquisite car sailed alongside the mountains before turning towards them, winding past looming rocky bluffs until Lake Las Vegas was revealed.

"This is a beautiful spot," Angie commented. "Nicer than the city proper."

The quiet resort town sprawled out along the lake's ruffled shores, casinos and hotels and condos filled with little more than promise. Steve really hoped his ball club and the owner's billions could bring the lake to a fruition it had just never managed before. He lowered his head again, not needing to see the familiar entertainment complex dominated by the massive tortoiseshell-shaped stadium with its gargantuan pickaxes acting as support struts and the sprawling complexes of Facilities buildings beyond it. The security guard was startled when he recognized a very disheveled Steve, but kept his mouth shut and let them in. It was obvious where to go in the well-groomed parking lot and the noisy engine fell mercifully silent.

Angie stretched noisily as Steve began to gingerly unfold himself. When she came around the car to open his door, he damn near went tumbling.

Inexplicably, it made them both laugh.

"Come on, sasquatch, I can only help so much."

Muttering and cursing, he got to his feet under him and walked where she pointed him, breathing out a relieved sigh when strong air-conditioning washed over him.

Rose's startled voice sort of registered, but he ignored her in favor of sinking into one of the plush couches with Angie still clamped to his side.

"Thanks," he murmured as she settled into him and startled when he felt her small hand intertwine with his. It was an easy intimacy he never would have expected. Her eyes were bright when he looked into them, close enough to see the myriad of colors that made her unique.

"Don't look so shocked, Steve. Whatever happened, we're clearly in it together."

Quietly delighted, he gave her fingers a squeeze and sank into the comfort of their togetherness. She giggled when he gave her a hard squeeze and settled her head on his shoulder.

"Together," he murmured to the beauty at his side, and rested his skull lightly on hers. It tugged at a deeply buried fantasy, a want really, that he'd always harbored. Someone to be his partner, to be his, and he to be hers. It was sappy and old-fashioned, but he was a small-town boy under all the glitz and glamour. As much as his logical mind told him he was insane, he couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she could be more than a stranger.

\+ + + + 

_"Hot damn, look at that sexy beast!"_

_They were both hanging out of the moon roof like some sort of bad rom-com when Angie crowed in loud delight. She was a force of nature and Steve was having the time of his life. Because this was Vegas, the Aston Martin dealership was ablaze and open for business despite the late hour. As artful as any Broadway stage, the sleek, apple green convertible was lit up for maximum effect, glittering like a jewel in a glass cage._

_"So let's go get it, baby!"_

_"Really? Whoo hoo!"_

_Tossing some bills at the limo driver and dismissing the rental for the night, Steve followed his new girl into the traffic barely crawling through the crowded streets. They'd been puttering around, drinking and necking since leaving the chapel and were clearly ready for more antics._

_"God, it's gorgeous," Angie marveled as she pressed against the car dealership's plate glass window, as excited as a toddler ogling an ostentatious Christmas display. "You mean it?"_

_Euphoric, he hauled her into his larger body, cradling her skull to kiss her with fierce, lusty intent._

_"I mean it," he purred against her lips, relishing how she pressed into him as though they were already lovers. "The finery suits you, sweetheart."_

_"Sweet talker. Keep that up and I'll marry you. Oh wait, I did that already."_

_Completely amused with themselves and stupid with young love and hormones, they set out for their next adventure._

 

**Won't Be Pushed Aside**

 

"Goddammit, Rogers! You were my one choir boy, my one shining star of calm and you had to get in a barfight? A barfight. Really?"

A great, booming voice woke them both from a doze, aching bodies protesting the jostling. Like skinny Al Roker crossed with a grizzly bear and wearing an honest-to-god eyepatch, an intimidating figure of a man was bearing down on them, expression thunderous, yet tinged with relief. Far from intimidated, Steve chuckled throatily and gave Angie a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey, Doc."

Grumbling, the older man ignored Angie completely, pawing Steve's bruised skull, nose only inches from his. Bizarrely, she noticed that he smelled nice, all the more obvious because she and hubby smelled anything but.

"Well, at a glance you seem to be reasonably intact. I'll need to do a more thorough investigation though."

"Sorry, Doc. I hadn't meant to finally give into local temptation. Seems I needed something special to lead me astray."

Smiling softly, Steve tilted his head at Angie, their eyes meeting, and she was startled yet again by the rush of affection for this stranger. Clearly taken aback, the doctor twisted his head around to shoot her a piercing look with that one dark eye.

"Hope it was worth it."

Stung, Angie almost snapped at him, but was distracted by suddenly needing to help get a groaning Steve to his feet. As he hadn't let go of her, she had little choice, and she fully wrapped her arms around his muscled waist, distracted by the tickle of carnal memories.

The doctor was still muttering about pupil dilation and head injuries and such, but Angie barely heard him. Still hungover herself, she didn't have the resources to dedicate to a translation into plain English. Steve accidentally squeezed her almost suffocatingly tight in the movement of his thick arm as he raised his hands to his face. Far from minding, Angie relished the easy physicality of him and the unselfconsciousness of their close proximity. It was sexy and spoke of the bond they had forged that led them to this insane morning after. Yeah, the missing time was still hazy, but the passion and affection thrumming through her was very real. It would be hard to walk away from the feeling; perhaps even impossible.

The stubble on his face rasped as he scrubbed both open hands over his face and Angie couldn't deny the frisson of reaction up her spine. Mixed with the less appealing scents clinging to them where they were pressed close, teased a wisp of smell, memories washing over them, clear as day. Angie sprawled out on his bed, Steve humping the mattress as he held her shaking thighs apart, his mouth and nose full of the thick wet between her thighs. Her hands had made his bruised skull ache as she scrabbled for purchase against his scalp, but he couldn't have cared less. Even now, both had fragmented memories of leaving fingerprints of lust all over one another's pale skins.

When Angie found herself pinned by those piercing eyes, she shivered at the evening dark of them, the pupils blown wide with memory and aching need. 

"Yeah, it was worth it," Steve rasped in a thick voice that made Angie fight down the urge to grind against his hip. Stretching up to smooch his chin, she snuggled up to his side again, refusing to be dislodged. She had no intention of being separated from him yet. There were too many roiling emotions, too many unanswered questions, too much convoluted need. There was something about him that made her want to marry him last night and there was something about him in the hot light of day that made her look seriously at perhaps wanting to stay.

"Damn right it was worth it," she sassed him, soaking up the low chuckle and quick, hard kiss.

Guess she'd be extending her vacation a bit…

\+ + + + 

_While Angie was in no hurry after Sarah had made her wait at the damn door for so long, she was definitely hungry. Belly growls or no, she dawdled until the crappy water pressure finally offset the pleasure of the wet heat on her skin._

_"So what are we in the mood for?" she called through the mostly closed bathroom door while she gently sopped up some of the water from her long hair._

_"I got a rec for a place called 'Morita's' if you want to give it a shot."_

_"Sure, I'm easy."_

_"Angie, I love you dearly, you know that, but there is nothing easy about you!"_

_They cackled over the old joke, startling when there was a knock at the door._

_"Who is it?" Sarah enquired as Angie yanked on shorts and a t-shirt._

_"Uh, hi! Is Angelica Martinelli there? She dropped her wallet earlier and I found it. I brought along Martin here, from the front desk, as chaperone to show up unannounced at your door."_

_"Ooo, he's cute," Sarah commented as she peered through the peephole and yanked open the door. The handsome man in workout clothes hesitated until Angie stepped into view and he smiled in relief. He was a looker for damn sure, tall and darkly blonde and built like an Adonis. Yummy._

_"Good, I found you. Here."_

_Sure enough, it was the plastic sleeve containing her missing cards, seemingly untouched._

_"Oh, thank god, I was really worried. And hand delivered even!"_

_"Well, yeah, about that," he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck and pinking around the ears. It was adorable and Angie was oddly charmed. "You're very pretty and you clearly like to work out or you wouldn't have been at that run and maybe I was hoping that I could maybe get you a coffee, or take you on a run, or…"_

_The rambling fell off when Angie raised a hand, her grin delighted. "Are you asking me out, handsome?"_

_No guy that big should be able to deflate that far. For a moment there he looked like a ninety pound weakling, though still an adorably sexy one. "Well… yeah?"_

_It was stupid, brazen and completely out of character, but what the hell. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?_

_"That sounds lovely."_

_He perked up nicely at that, delighted at her agreement. "Really? Sweet. Umm, I should do this right then. How does dinner sound? Say about six?"_

_"That sounds great."_

_"Okay, good. Hey, I really have to get to work, but I'll see you tonight?"_

_"You got it."_

_Pleased as a big dog around his favorite human, the looker herded the amused hotel employee away, the two women leaning out the doorway to watch them go._

_"Hey handsome!"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"What's your name?"_

_Laughing, he paused for a moment to call back, "Steve!"_

_"See ya around, Steve!"_

_"Nice package," Sarah commented with completely fake nonchalance. "Though he could be a wee willie winkie for all I care, with an ass like that."_

_"Christ, Sarah, and you wonder why I tease you about being a slut?" Angie teased, but made no move to contradict her friend. "Well, welcome to Las Vegas, huh?"_

_She was in for a world of teasing and squeeing, but somehow Angie thought it would be worth it for the unexpected encounter._

\+ + + + 

Distracted and hurting and swamped with feelings and hormones, Steve clung to his lover and let Fury coax at them both to get moving. The repercussions would start happening now, the words and invasion of privacy Angie was in no way prepared for. Boy, when he fucked up his nice guy reputation, he didn't fuck around. Well, at least the guys would have to find something else to give his crap over now. Though, if this was the sort of crap he was going to find himself in, like finding this beauty married to him, then maybe he'd act up more often.

"How you holdin' up?" Nick asked quietly where he walked with Steve's free arm draped over his shoulders.

"Decent, but I'm dying for a meal, a shower, hydration and my phone is gone so I can't call my friend to let her know that I'm alive. Thanks for asking."

The acerbic sarcasm from Angie made Steve laugh so hard he had to stop walking or risk pulling all three of them to the floor.

"We can take care of all of that," Nick replied dryly and Angie made a frustrated noise.

"I can't remember her number."

"No need to memorize them anymore, I get that," Steve rambled a bit idiotically, the pain making him lightheaded again. "'Til your phone goes missing. I'm not helping, am I?"

That made Angie huff with amusement. "No, not really. Thankfully, you're adorable, so I'll forgive you."

"Awesome!"

Once settled into an adjustable exam chair at the fringes of the massive therapy space, Steve felt himself relax, now in familiar territory. Over his years, medical personnel had poked and prodded him and always made him feel better. Though, he had to admit that it was nice to have a hand to hold.

It shouldn't have come as a shock to him when Angie gasped, making him jerk out of a half-doze.

"Wha-? Huh?"

"Holy shit," she whispered, for in her free hand was that recent Sport Illustrated Special Edition emblazoned with his smiling mug. The words, 'Rookie Squared: New team, new city, new Division, newly acquired. Can Rogers handle it?', were stamped next to him. "Guess that clarifies a few things."

He could tell he looked alarmed, knowing this was where things would fall apart. But Angie surprised him yet again, leaning in with a sigh to press a kiss to his brow. 

"Steve, I said together and I meant it. Just sit back and relax, we'll figure shit out later."

"You are a hell of a woman," he complimented and squeezed perhaps a bit too hard for a moment before gentling. She chuckled breathlessly and leaned into his loose one-armed embrace, hugging his battered head to her for a long moment. Neither paid a lick of attention to Fury where he hovered at the edge of the loosely defined exam area, giving them a moment.

"Damn right," Angie murmured and Steve kissed the soft underside of her jaw in lieu of the right words he just didn't have.

A faint sound from Nick finally got their attention and Steve was both startled and completely understanding at Maria Hill standing beside him, dressed as impeccably as always. 

"Maria Hill, Director of Team Operations and, in this case, public relations." she said in a quick, businesslike tone and Angie half straightened up. With no handshake on offer, she left her hands on Steve's chest and shoulder. Maria handed over a tablet, Steve automatically accepting it. Like out on the fields, it was contained in a cushioned case in the team's desert tan color. Frozen on it was a dark, grainy video waiting to be played.

Steve had a bad feeling about this….

Sure enough, the footage was shaky and muffled, but it was guys playing pool, one sneering at the biggest guy in the quartet. Steve watched himself coolly tell the punk to back off, saw the sucker punch that still had his head aching. With quick reflexes fueled by anger and pain, past-Steve recovered from his stumble and slammed a punishing fist between the punk's eyes. It devolved into a brawl, other patrons scattering, and was over nearly as quickly as it began. The trio of troublemakers couldn't scramble away fast enough.

"Oh, daaaaaamn," said a voice-- probably the camera's owner-- and Steve watched himself strip off his ruined jacket and stomp over to the bar to slam a shot before past-Angie approached to cling to him, making him smile brightly. After a few words, they were both grinning and left the bar hand in hand.

"Oh boy," present-Angie muttered and Steve fought down a grin at the thrum of amusement faint in her tone. Really, it shouldn't be funny, but the sheer absurdity of the situation couldn't be denied.

"I don't suppose anyone got the wedding? I think I remember an Elvis impersonator."

That dragged a stifled snort of laughter out of Angie. "A really bad one. Like a bad Chris Farley impersonator doing a bad Elvis."

It was too much to resist and Steve let out a little burst of glee as more fractured memories bubbled up. "Did he really say, 'You may now kiss the bride, you hunka hunka burning love'?"

The laughter was agony in his skull, but it felt unbearably good to hold her and laugh and laugh.

\+ + + + 

_It had taken a little effort-- and more importantly, cash-- but the third cabbie was their ticket to an honest-to-Abe Elvis impersonator minister at the dark fringes of old Vegas. Hey, if you're going to do something stupid and insane in the City of Sin, why not go for the whole experience, right?_

_"With this ring I thee wed..."_

_Some sane part of Steve's brain was yelling at him to slow the hell down, think what he was doing. His buddies and his job would kill him for doing this important thing in such a haphazard fashion, but the sparkle of those eyes rendered the objections to gibberish. Happily parroting the costumed Elvis and the paraphrased words of promise, he ignored sanity and common sense and just... went with it._

 

**Find Your Place Among Us**

 

It shouldn't have been as funny as it was in those moments, but really, the sheer absurdity of this morning just kept getting weirder and weirder.

"I asked Maria here to swing by to preserve as much of your privacy as humanly possible," the gruff doctor said, gesturing at the woman by his side.

"And to get me out of your way?"

The sass might have actually gotten a faint smirk, it was hard to tell, though Steve snickered. 

"That too."

Maria took the tablet back from Steve and spoke up again. "A meal, a shower, hydration, and a call to you friend to let her know that you're alive. I believe those were the requests?"

Oddly delighted, Angie grinned winningly at the doctor, who finally quirked a tiny smile. "You remembered! I knew you liked me."

There may or may not have been small sounds of amusement from the strangers, but Angie ignored them in favor of nuzzling her new husband for a moment. 

"So, yeah, I'll be good and leave for a bit."

"Don't want to let you go." It wasn't a whiny, needy complaint, but a quiet statement that thrilled her to her toes.

"Me either, Steve, but I won't be far. Be a good boy and you'll get a treat later."

Steve's chuckle was half sweet and half lusty.

Angie followed Maria Hill, glancing over her shoulder to see the doctor settle to a stool beside Steve's exam table, the bright blue eyes glued to her even as she rounded the doorjamb and they were finally separated. 

"Director of Team Operations, huh? This seems a bit below your pay grade."

Maria made a half aggrieved, half amused noise and eyed the shorter woman speculatively. "As Rogers is our star quarterback in a neophyte franchise in a extremely controversial city and there are hundreds of millions of dollars riding on this team, no, this really isn't below my pay grade."

Angie wasn't sure if she was intimidated or irritated and it uncharacteristically kept her trap shut.

"I'm not trying to give you hell, Martinelli, honestly. My job is to maximize everything about the team. In particular, the players. If you had hooked up with nearly any other guy on this team, I'd be far less… patient. But Steve is a nice guy in the old fashioned sense of the word. If he thinks you're special, that's damn well good enough for me. Do you have any food allergies?"

The abrupt change of subject left Angie blinking. She still was far from her best. "What? No. Gut like a trash compactor."

"Good. Ah, Mel, Tash. I was hoping to find one of you. Can I enlist your help for a few minutes?"

The two women paused in their sparring and Angie marveled in wonder, "do they hire for looks here? Jeezus."

All three employees eyed the stranger in their midst with various levels of deadpan amusement. The sparrers were both small, well-built and muscled, sheened with sweat and effort, padded fists half-lowered. The striking redhead with bright blue-green eyes grinned wickedly and yanked off her gloves to walk over with the hand extended. "Natasha Romanova, head of cheerleading operations. Serious and stoic over there is Melinda May, co-coach of strength and conditioning for all of our athletes. Are you auditioning? We could use someone with your build, though I don't recognize you from the stack of headshots on my desk."

A rude, amused splutter escaped Angie even as she accepted the handshake and flapped her free hand somewhat lamely at the striking redhead. "No, but thanks for the ego boost, really."

The greenish eyes moved to Maria in silent demand for an explanation. "Meet Rogers' new wife."

Natasha's eyebrows shot up in shock and then back down into a frown so fast that Angie was half expecting her to drop with a forehead cramp. Even 'serious and stoic'-- who remained hanging back-- looked shocked.

"I'd suspect you were yanking our chains or meant the Rogers in janitorial if not for that rock," May said dryly and Angie bristled.

"Look, strangers, I've had a really fucked up morning and could use not being the butt of everyone's sniping, so back off already."

"Yeah, you seem a bit under the weather," Natasha said calmly. "And relax, you have the three least likely gossips in the organization here. Not that I think that will keep you safe from it. Rogers, huh? I can't wait to hear that story."

Bristly or not, Angie guzzled half of the bottle of water May handed her and allowed herself to be herded to a really luxurious locker room and over to-- oh bliss-- nice, big showers. Stripping, she cranked up the punishing water pressure as hot as she could stand it and gratefully stepped into the spray. Melinda and Natasha's voices were indistinct blurs of sound beneath the rush of water while her mind wandered. Her father and half her brothers were football fans, bereft of a pro team in Los Angeles and despising both San Diego and San Francisco too much to hand off their allegiances to either. And pity the fool who brought up the Oakland Raiders, yikes. Then, a few years ago, the rumor that the Rams would return started building steam and, like every other former Rams fan, her male relatives were both hopeful and horrified.

The NFL finally announced a massive influx of new teams, swelling the sports ranks significantly. Even someone who actively avoided the sport, such as herself, couldn't ignore that being blared everywhere. Las Vegas stuck in her head because Gino had said something about choosing them both for proximity and to piss the others off.

"Better n' San Diego," she mimicked her brother and made a rude sound at herself. As if getting drunk and married wasn't going to be an awkward enough conversation with her family…

She'd filled out her personal information on a website, then handed her phone to Steve. Yeah, that rang a bell a little bit. Then, they'd gotten a printout to sign at some kiosk somewhere before going off to see Elvis. Well, good or bad, that meant there was probably a legal paper trail. 

A flash of movement caught her eye, someone leaving a bunch of objects on the bench outside that luckily included shampoo, conditioner and a really decadent body wash that smelled like heaven. And, even better, a paper cup of delicious black coffee. Only the wisps of steam kept her from downing the whole thing, but self-preservation won out and she finished cleaning up. Feeling a million times better, Angie enjoyed the hot water for a moment longer before going for the neatly folded towels that sat beside a stack of still-in-the-plastic clothing that even included sneakers, all of it in tan and sage green, trimmed in an intense, bright blue. But it was the tray of food that sat next the coffee that really set her to salivating. Bowls of mixed fruit, yogurt and oatmeal next to an enormous breakfast sandwich fat with cheese and egg and bacon. Quickly swaddling her torso and hair, Angie went at the tray like a starving shark. Except the oatmeal. She wasn't that desperate.

There was a little paper envelope containing a pair of plain old aspirin she swallowed before attacking the provided attire. The pile of athletic clothing bore a repeating motif of a pickax with a stylized blue starburst at its sharp lower point. 'Las Vegas Strikers' was emblazoned around the symbol on the larger articles of clothing, as well as the honest-to-Abe toiletry kit that included a hairbrush and teeth-cleaning kit. Angie was on her second round of brushing and flossing, when Maria appeared again.

"Feeling better?"

Spitting and rinsing, Angie flashed a million-watt smile and Maria couldn't help but note that she could sell this crazy misstep on Rogers' part if she could get the girl to play along.

"Night and day! Thanks for everything. Really."

"Ha!" Natasha crowed as she suddenly stepped into view. "Are you sure you're not one of mine? You've got the build of a dancer."

"Thanks, but dancing was never going to be part of my path."

And didn't that still rankle, all these years later.

Intent on getting back on track, Maria spoke up again. "The last request was getting in touch with your friend to let her know that you're all right. Now, I can send you back to your hotel in style, but there's a lot you're going to need to know before the media descends. Might I offer a courier for a note? Your friend can come here, as she'll need to know the basics as well. As will your family and anyone you might know even in passing."

That made Angie pause in finger-combing out the tangles in her long tresses. The suit was serious, that was blatantly obvious by her expression. Media hounds and paparazzi dogging her family and friends, interfering with business and everyday life. Suddenly the meal she'd wolfed down roiled uncomfortably in her stomach and Natasha instantly moved to help her over to one of the benches.

"Breathe, honey. That's it, nice and slow and even. We as an organization are involved now too, so we'll do what we can to help. God knows the Starks have had enough practice."

That brought Angie's pale face up. "Stark? Like Stark industries Howard and Tony Stark? Like playboy, philanthropist, geniuses, Stark?"

The other two women smirked identically and Maria drawled, "They'll be pleased to know their reputation precedes them. And then flirt outrageously, despite that rock on your finger."

Normally, Angie might have laughed, but she merely nodded and held out a hand for the paper tablet in Maria's hands and started writing.

> _'Sarah, you ass, when you dragged me to Las Vegas, it wasn't supposed to be for something like THIS. Call me the instant this damn thing is in your hands, so that I can yell at you and you'll know I'm okay. -Ang'_

"If you can jot down a number for her," Angie asked, handing the papers back. "That'd be great. In the meantime, I'm desperate for a little bit of exercise and some more information."

"I've got her, Maria."

And so, Angie found herself with the tiny redhead, striding down a utilitarian hallway leading to god-knows-where.

"So, three years ago, Howard Stark gets it into his head that all he wants for Christmas is his own football team. But not any team, no. He wants to do it his way."

"Money talks."

"Oh, trust me, biiiiiig money was involved in the conversation. So, he starts gathering intel and chatting up his rich pals. Within six months, he's drummed up six investors and five interested cities. Now, like any giant company, the NFL is leery of big change, but with some negotiation, they realize they actually have to go bigger than Howard's plans. Astonishingly, they get behind a full eight new teams, two of which aren't even on American soil."

"Yeah, my father and most of my brothers are big football fans. Some of this rings a bell."

"So, here we are, three years later, with eight new franchises and stadiums, waiting to see if the gamble pays off. It's also been the biggest shakeup and hiring boom that professional sports has ever seen. Each team has some one hundred core personnel, give or take, and that doesn't include support staff." 

The hallway dumped them into a busy bullpen of people on phones and computers, two of which Natasha waved off, never breaking stride. Through several more doors, the hallways getting steadily larger, crowded with all manner of odd paraphernalia, they at last came to a massive concrete corridor big enough to walk a t-rex through. A whistle shattered the air not far away and raised voices were a muddy resonance against her eardrums. Gawking, she followed Natasha towards the light and into the biggest enclosed space that she had ever seen. Beneath the soaring dome were sloped rank upon rank of tan and blue seats, tens of thousands of them. A television the size of an apartment building seemed to hang impossibly above a massive, pristine green field marked with white lines where football players went through the motions of their craft and staff loitered about on the sidelines.

It was an impressive sight and Natasha smiled at her charge's awed reaction, gesturing expansively.

"Welcome to Stark Industries Field, home of the Las Vegas Strikers."

**Author's Note:**

> When the National Football League announced that the Saint Louis Rams were returning to their original home in Los Angeles IN REAL LIFE, I cracked up. I kid you not. When life imitates art.


End file.
